


Companionship

by Guardian Of The Lotus (DistantStorm)



Series: Fictober 2019 [20]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Emotional Support, F/M, Saladin just wants his Titan sons to be happy, Secret Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 13:02:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21099893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DistantStorm/pseuds/Guardian%20Of%20The%20Lotus
Summary: Saladin looks in on Zavala after the war, and notices something is bothering him. Whatever it is, someone else is helping him through it.Aka: Saladin cares about his former student (read: son) and wants him to be happy and healthy. Also, he still thinks Shaxx is an idiot.Written for day 20 of the Fictober 2019 Challenge: "You could talk about it, you know."





	Companionship

"Go easy on him," Shaxx says, and Saladin rolls his eyes. As if he needs help on how to navigate Zavala. "The rebuild has been difficult."

He throws open the door to the interim office space they'd set aside for the Vanguard Commander. It's a mess, but Zavala's sense of order lays in execution, not office organization. It's the only obvious glimpse into his mind, the only hint at the man behind the impassive facade. 

Zavala is staring at a datascroll, comparing it to paper notes. He's frowning. It takes well over three minutes for Saladin to realize he's not actually evaluating anything at all, his eyes darting back and forth without seeing what’s in front of him. He's lost in his thoughts.

Politely, Saladin coughs, adjusting his helm beneath his arm. "You look well," He comments mildly when his younger notices him.

"I was pleased to hear you'd been unscathed," Zavala replies, rising from the rather small chair. 

They shake hands and talk about arbitrary things. Saladin does not need to pry to tell his mental state. It's in the way he holds his shoulders - rounded down, obvious even with that ridiculous set of pauldrons - and the way his eyes glint with that soft smirky smile - he's terrible at forcing himself to be happy, he should stick to frowning - that tells the last of the Iron Lords everything he needs to know.

"What is it?" He asks, out of the blue, a question in response to a redundant pleasantry, something to stall the overworking gears in Zavala's brain.

"What?"

"You could talk about it, you know,” Saladin rumbles. "What’s bothering you."

Those rounded shoulders sag, and it's half under the weight of the world and half in relief for not needing to keep up the charade. Zavala is better than any of them deserve, Saladin thinks, not for the first time.

"It is just," He waves a hand, nonchalantly. "A lot. It's fine. Simply been a while."

Bullshit, Saladin thinks. That's not it at all. But Zavala throws some chatter his way about the districts being rebuilt, glosses over something related to clans and they both share a very obvious eye roll over the factions and their nonsense. But it doesn't change Zavala's posture, or the odd gravity to his voice.

He keeps the younger Titan going, does his best to find clues, something to help him sort it out. He'd like to help, if he can. After all, this is the student that still listens to him.

But then, something odd happens. A soft tone, like a bell comes from the pile of pads and papers scattered across the desktop and Zavala doesn't jump to respond - he has decorum, waits for Saladin to finish his current point - but he may as well have. He looks at the screen for only a moment, and something changes.

His posture straightens, his shoulders round, and something amused flickers in his irises for a moment. He does not answer, just pushes the tablet a bit away and smiles.

"I'm sorry," He interjects, apologetic - but more obviously at ease - "What were you saying?"

Saladin is no master spy, but he certainly gets Zavala caught up in a conversation long enough to catch a glimpse of the screen when it goes off again.

_We 'Guardians' are the walls, remember? Worry about the housing and zoning efforts. The Clans will whistleblow on the factions. You have enough on your plate. -H_

Shaxx is gloating when he walks by, afterwards. He passes the insufferable idiot completely then turns back, hesitating.

As always, the other Titan pounces on the opportunity. "She's changed him, don't you think?" 

"Who?"

The Crucible handler laughs. "Time does not move him. Places rarely do. But, people…"

"No," He refutes, but the more he thinks about it, the more obvious it is. The encouragement. The way he'd perked up. It plucks at dusty heartstrings. He knew how that was. Not even romantically. Just platonically, companionship is a powerful thing.

“Yes. Mortal too, not that you’d ever know it by looking at her.”

“He’d never-”

“Love doesn’t care. You know that better than anyone.”

-/

The Dawning brings with it interesting changes. He attends the Consensus event - some formal gala or ball or whatever - out of societal obligation. It’s the one event he’d allow himself to be in the City for, as the rest of the holidays are best celebrated privately or not at all. Shaxx brings her over, all but dragging her across the room. It’s clear he’s been drinking, because he’s exuberantly loud, even for him. She looks apprehensive.

Though, all that stops when they approach. Saladin can tell Shaxx has likely drank the bar out of whiskey already and they haven’t set out hors d'oeuvres. 

“This is the mortal,” Shaxx says in a stage whisper that would shake the floor if not for the ridiculous music that is blaring from a nearby speaker. “The one I-”

She promptly elbows him in the side and knocks the wind out of him. He sputters while she questions disbelievingly, “_The mortal? _You are such a jackass.” She dusts her hands off as if she’s just taken out the trash before extending a hand. “Sorry about him. Suraya Hawthorne.”

They shake, Saladin smirking, lips curled upwards in the barest hint of a laugh. Like a magnet, he feels his gaze drawn to a heavy one focused on them. Zavala is watching, carefully. He looks between them, drink in hand - likely wine, and the only glass he’ll have all night excepting the champagne toast he’s obligated to give - and something in his gaze eases. “Saladin Forge,” He says, tilting his head and casting his gaze toward the Vanguard Commander. “Farm overseer?”

“Clan Liaison. Tried to get out of it, but Zavala convinced me this place-” She casts her gaze around the room to indicate the City, mock-exasperation present, “-just might be worth sticking around.”

Shaxx rights himself, turns ninety degrees to the left and waves at Zavala, hollering, “See? Nothing to worry about.”

Hawthorne steps on his foot next, taking advantage of the heels she’s clearly not comfortable in otherwise. Saladin chuckles, low and smooth, and offers her his arm. The both of them must look to Zavala and roll their eyes nearly in sync, because the good commander has to hide his hand behind his mouth to hide an obvious snort of amusement.

“He is such a dork.” Suraya murmurs at his side. “It’s good to see him happy.”

“Something tells me that had a bit to do with you.”

She smiles indulgently, cheeks flushing. Her severe features soften for a beat, but she shakes her head. “We just have very similar goals.”

Somehow, Saladin doubts that’s all it is.

-/

They take to the dance floor well after most are too drunk to remember. She’s barefoot - he can tell because she moves like water flows, with a Hunter’s grace - laughing and swaying with him. No matter how far they come apart to the beat, they always return to this, to hold each other close. If anyone else notices the short, chaste kiss they share, they don’t recognize the Vanguard Commander in his dress blues and the Clan Steward in a dress that matches his tie as the ones partaking in it. 

To everyone else but him, they’re just two random, ordinary people in love. There’s no age, no Light, nothing but two people and a heartfelt connection.

He feels a pang in his chest and tips his glass their direction, not that they’d ever notice. Tips back the cup, finishes his drink. Even if it’s just for a moment, it’s not a feeling to trade away for anything.

Let Zavala have this, Saladin thinks.


End file.
